Petunia's Story
by Rhoswen Eolande
Summary: In which Petunia Evans realizes she does not want to marry Vernon Dursley, and Cassandra Trelawney meddles too much for her own good. FemHarry. Fantastic Beasts crossover. Tom Riddle reborn.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a rewrite of my story _Juniper_. I felt it needed to be revised and extended, and I thought Petunia deserved a whole story just to herself.

Fem Harry is mentioned in here, but it's more of a catalyst than the actual point of the story.

* * *

Chapter One

In one universe, Lily Evans and James Potter waited until they had been out of school for a good while before getting married. In another, something quite different happened.

Encouraged by fears relating to the war against the Dark Lord Voldemort, they ran off straight out of school and eloped just like so many others. They invited no one to their wedding except for their closest friends, and their families got the announcement that they were married only after the deed had already happened.

This affected Lily's Muggle sister Petunia in strange ways. Determined to be nothing like her magical and fanciful sister, she decided that she and her boyfriend Vernon Dursley were going to wait even longer before getting married.

Lily and James did wait to have a child. But eventually, they became pregnant, and because the circumstances of conception were different, so was the child itself. In the universe where they'd waited for marriage, their child had been a boy.

In this universe, their child was conceived as a little girl.

This girl would go on to be prophesied as the one who could destroy the Dark Lord. She would be born in hiding with her parents. Her family would go through great struggle because of the remarkable events surrounding her birth. She was a witch; they were a witch and wizard.

This is not their story. This is the story of Lily Potter's Muggle sister, Petunia Evans.

* * *

Petunia Evans strode stiffly into the corporation typing room. She was dressed smartly, in a drab business jacket and pencil skirt, her blonde hair up in a pristine bun, her makeup picture perfect. She somehow had managed to afford lace gloves and pearl drop earrings, stretching her meager stipend as a typist. Petunia did not consider herself an attractive woman, though she'd die before she admitted this to anyone else: her neck was too long, she was too skinny and bony, her face was too thin, her teeth were too protruding.

But she had her appeals. She wasn't pretty and bright and airy, not like Lily Potter, but she was handsome and dignified. She held a different kind of appeal.

She walked by the main secretary's desk. Annabelle Wickley, a plain but smiling girl with a round face and mousy brown hair, called to her cheerfully, "Hello, Petunia!"

"... Miss Wickley." Petunia's tone was stiff. It was far too early in the morning to be so chipper in Petunia's opinion, and in any case, Annabelle Wickley aspired to bigger and better things. She was a secretary to make enough money to pay her way through nursing school. She wouldn't last, wasn't particularly fond of gossip, and had strange interests, so Petunia had never seen any reason to befriend her.

She walked to her typing desk, sitting down primly, purposefully smoothing her uniform. When Petunia Evans couldn't see, Annabelle Wickley rolled her eyes.

Grace leaned over from the desk next to Petunia. "Did you hear Annabelle broke up with her boyfriend last week?"

Petunia leaned forward, blue eyes gleaming. She was always one for gossip, especially when it involved people she didn't like. "Really? Do tell!"

"No one knows why, but we think it's just that Annabelle has ferociously high standards. Sue saw her arguing with him in front of Grunnings Co building two weeks ago - something about drinking."

Petunia snorted. "All men drink," she said. "God knows Vernon loves his brandy. She's never going to find a man that way," she noted with satisfaction, looking over sideways at the calm and quiet Annabelle Wickley, who was on the phone jotting something down.

Petunia got to work, not wasting any time. She did her work, and she did it on time and to perfection. With her beady eyes and her eye for detail, so useful in finding and scrubbing out even the tiniest stain in the pristine kitchen inside her flat, she was an excellent typist, spotting the tiniest errors. She prided herself on that, gaining a great deal of satisfaction from her little career.

For lunch, she met Vernon, a junior executive. He was a vast, overweight man with balding black hair, a bushy black mustache, and a ruddy face, not particularly attractive. But Petunia told herself he made up for it in other ways. He was the first man ever to show an interest in her, and when she'd dared tell him that her sister was a witch he'd promised solemnly never to hold it against her that she had a freak for a sister.

They had lunch at a cafe and Petunia nodded along, listening patiently as Vernon complained loudly about everything, from the city council's progressive policies in the news to the foibles and flaws of his coworkers. At last, Petunia got her turn, and she told him all about the gossip concerning Annabelle.

"Well, she can't find someone who wants to marry her, can she?" said Vernon. "That's why she's so focused on career; she's got no one to marry." He shoved half a sandwich inside his mouth. Vernon firmly believed in married women becoming housewives, something Petunia told herself she should approve of. He wanted children, like she did; they really were a perfect match, she said to herself.

She knew he'd hoped to be married by this point, the biggest point of contention between them. But he said he approved of waiting. It was cautious. Vernon was all about caution and tradition and what made the most sense.

"She's an odd woman anyway," said Petunia, frowning disapprovingly. "All caught up in eccentric hobbies like - well, like my freak of a sister," she added spitefully.

"I'm sorry you have to work with her," said Vernon solemnly, taking her hand, and Petunia offered him a fond smile. "Could have done with a good beating as a child," he added in a mutter, going back to his food, a bit of which was caught in his mustache. "The weird ones always need the strangeness beaten out of them, that's my family's motto."

"Well, it's not mine," said Petunia, turning icy and reserved. "You know I disapprove of that sort of thing."

Vernon smiled. "Of course, my Pet," he said. "Always so compassionate. You're quite ordinary, of course, much better than your sister _or_ Annabelle."

Vernon Dursley always made Petunia Evans feel better about herself.

* * *

She got home that evening and looked through her accumulated mail. A bill, a letter, a postcard - and she paused, freezing, staring down at the parchment envelope.

Parchment paper. Ink writing. No return address or stamp.

This could only be from her sister.

Petunia contemplated many things: not opening it, tearing it up into little pieces, stuffing it in the blender and turning the blender on, setting it on fire. No, not that last one, it would set off the smoke alarms.

Petunia huffed. "Oh, you're being silly and fearful," she told herself aloud in the quiet, eerily clean and tidy single flat (Petunia had no great fondness for other human beings and had settled for a tiny single). "Just open the damn envelope." And so she did. "How bad can it be?"

Where Lily was concerned, Petunia should have already learned: she should never ask that question.

 _Dear Tuney,_

(Petunia made a face at the old nickname.)

 _You haven't heard from me in a while. We've become targets in the war, and have had to go into hiding. I went through great lengths to get this to you, you have no idea._

("You shouldn't have bothered sending it at all," Petunia sniped, telling herself she wasn't concerned for her freak of a sister in the slightest. Lily was probably exaggerating, she always did have that tendency.)

 _But I wanted to give you the good news! I'm pregnant, and James and I have found out it's going to be a baby girl!_

Petunia's heart froze. She stared down at that last sentence. "It's going to be a baby girl."

Lily never got a response letter.

Because Petunia was eight, watching her reckless sister do impossible things with a strange mixture of disapproval and envy. She was ten, being excluded from her little sister's friendship with the other strange boy on the block. She was twelve, asking to go to Hogwarts like her sister and getting Headmaster Dumbledore's letter telling her that she couldn't because she had no magic.

She was thirteen, watching her sister climb onto an exciting train that was going to take her away with a wand to a magical castle. She was thirteen, calling her sister a freak for the first time and running in tears out of the station platform.

She was sixteen, watching her sister blossom into an eccentric witch and a bright, airy beauty. She was eighteen, watching men fall all over her sister.

She was a child, watching her irresponsible sister gain everything she had never had. She was an adult, watching her sister fall really, passionately in love with someone, and do something stupid because of it.

She was all those things in that moment, because Petunia had always wanted a child and more than anything… she had always wanted a baby girl.

Yet again, for the thousandth time, Petunia Evans had been shown up. It would be hard enough being Lily Potter's sister even as a witch. She was beautiful, powerful, kind, imaginative, moral, intelligent, and fiery when she needed to be. Lily was perfect. And even as a witch, being her sister would be difficult. As a Muggle… it was killer.

* * *

Petunia marched straight into Grunnings Co the next morning, on a mission. She walked past her usual office and right into Vernon's and said in an iron voice, "Vernon. We need to talk."

Vernon looked up from the fellow executive he'd been talking to. "Can it wait?"

"No."

Vernon was suitably cowed by her expression. "I'll be back in a minute," he muttered to his coworker, and sidled his massive girth past Petunia's bony one and out into the hall. "What is it?" he said quietly.

"I want to get married," said Petunia without preamble. "I want to get married and have a child."

Vernon was thrown genuinely off guard. "Well, that's a change of heart," he said. "What happened to caution?"

"We've been cautious long enough. It's time." Petunia crossed her arms, trying to find a way to say that she would brook no argument.

"Well - well -" Vernon blustered. "Pet, I have to ask you. That's how things are done. And you'll have to give your two week notice, and - Just give me some time," he pleaded. "I'll make sure the time is right. I'll make sure it's done correctly."

Petunia looked away, a sinking disappointed feeling in her stomach. He hadn't really refused, and so she didn't feel she could really get angry with him. "Alright," she murmured.

She should have gone to work. Instead she went outside and sat down on the front steps, looking out over the Surrey city street. She was quite sure, she thought, that if Lily had suddenly proposed to James Potter, he would have said yes.

But that wasn't okay, was it? James Potter was reckless and untraditional. Vernon was none of those things. Vernon was -

Petunia realized she was crying.

"Are you alright?" Petunia looked up and around in alarm. Annabelle Wickley was standing there, bent over in concern. "Is there anything I can do?"

For some reason, Petunia was irritated by her good will.

"No," she snapped, sound unusually nasally. "If you would please, I'd like to be left alone."

Annabelle sighed, stood, and turned to leave.

"My sister's having a daughter!" Petunia wasn't sure why she said it, why the words burst out of her mouth. Perhaps she thought of Annabelle, breaking up with her boyfriend. Of Annabelle, understanding. Perhaps.

Petunia felt mortified as Annabelle turned to her in surprise. But Annabelle didn't take the bait. She even seemed sympathetic.

"That doesn't sound so bad," she said gently, sitting down next to Petunia on the steps. "I suppose I was just surprised, that's all. You're so composed all the time, it's not like you to get so upset."

Petunia looked down. "My sister is reckless, silly, and irresponsible," she said bitingly. "Full of imagination and fancy. She eloped recklessly with her husband straight out of school. I did everything correctly and she didn't. And now, not only is she happy, but she - she has my daughter!" Petunia snapped.

"Ah," said Annabelle knowingly. "Envy."

Petunia was indignant. "It most certainly is not envy!" she said stoutly. "Envy is an ugly emotion and I don't have it!"

Annabelle looked at her with something that was remarkably and disgustingly like pity. "It sounds like your sister just has a different way of doing things from you," she said. "One way isn't better or worse than the other. You should focus on making your own life happy instead of worrying about other people's.

"If you were more like your sister, do you think you would be happier?" It was a genuine, innocent question.

Petunia frowned, troubled. "I… I don't know." Her face and her heart both said that her instinctive answer was 'yes.' "Lily's world is one of imagination and passion, reckless romance. That's not… _me_ _ **.**_ _"_

"Maybe you're subconsciously telling yourself that if you were a bit more reckless and passionate, you'd be happier," Annabelle suggested. "And what's wrong with imagination, if I might ask? Without it, we'd have no innovation."

"I'm not much for innovation," said Petunia stiffly.

"But that thing you use to type on - would it even exist without the imagination of someone?" Annabelle pointed out. "You have to admit, at least some innovation is necessary for society to function."

"So you're telling me that if I were more like Lily, I would be happier," said Petunia flatly.

"I think you need to find a happy balance - a little of both worlds. You already have one world down. Maybe allowing a bit of the other into your life would help. Not too much, but just a bit. Your sister doesn't have a worldwide monopoly on imagination or passion," said Annabelle.

"That's true," said Petunia, growing more certain of herself. Lily most certainly did not! Just because she was a witch didn't mean she had a monopoly on all of her personality traits! Petunia had been seeing herself as inferior all along, without realizing it!

Well, that could not continue.

"Thank you," Petunia allowed after a moment. "I suppose now you're going to tell everyone about what I've said."

"Oh, no. I'm not one for gossip." Annabelle smiled, stood, and winked. "Your secret's safe with me."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Petunia walked into the office the next day to find it full of whispers. She looked over sharply at all her usual friends, who immediately ducked away from each other and pretended to work as if they hadn't just been conspiring about something.

She walked over suspiciously. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing. How is your relationship with Vernon going?" said Grace coyly, mock innocent, as Sue stared from behind her eagerly.

Petunia felt her breath knocked out of her. Gossip. The proposal. The crying. She was the subject of gossip.

All of Petunia's worst fears and daydreams had been realized.

She rushed out of the office, upset, and realized she was a mess. Still more whispers would be left in her wake. What was wrong with her?

"Petunia?" Petunia looked around to find Annabelle standing there. She looked worried. "What's wrong?"

"The gossip - you must have heard it - oh, never mind, who did I think I was talking to," Petunia snapped. She looked away, uncomfortable. "They're talking about me behind my back. I've become a weirdo. And now they'll do it even _more_." Her tone was pained, humiliatingly tearful.

Annabelle put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," she said. "Screw what they say. I think you're really great."

Petunia turned back. "But why?" she asked, genuinely confused. "It's not like I've ever been nice to you."

Annabelle smiled. "You just have a lot of natural pride," she said. "You may exasperate me, Petunia, but I've always admired that."

Petunia looked down, swallowing a lump in her throat. She felt silly. "Thank you," she murmured. "Is this how you always felt when… when we gossiped about you?" For the first time, she felt genuinely ashamed of herself.

Annabelle gave a fearless grin. "I just pretended not to notice, not to pay any attention to it," she said. "It was beneath me."

Petunia's eyes widened. Then she raised her head. "Quite right," she said. "And it's beneath me as well."

A few minutes later, Petunia sat down primly at her desk and smoothed her clothes as though nothing had happened.

"Petunia, are you alright?" Grace didn't really care - she was just eager for something to talk with other people about.

"I'm perfectly fine, Miss Colville," said Petunia smoothly, not even dignifying her with a glimpse, and as Grace's mouth fell open, Petunia leaned over to talk with "Annabelle" in quite a friendly way instead.

Screw what they thought. Petunia was above them.

Vernon heard the gossip later and came to talk to her about it at the end of the day. "I feel it's my duty to inform you," he said, heavy and solemn, "that people have been talking about you. I'm dreadfully sorry."

Petunia lifted her head. "I know," she said. "They were quite cruel to me and I've grown tired of them."

Vernon frowned. "Pet, appearances and reputation are important -"

"I'm not talking to them and that's the end of it, Vernon!"

And Petunia was so fierce that Vernon was cowed - for now.

* * *

Petunia decided to take Annabelle's advice. She tried being romantic and creative - not like Lily, but just a smidge.

Some things were perfectly sophisticated and appropriate, but also romantic. She bought a book of French cuisine and started trying to learn recipes from it, for example. She took up listening to classical music and writing poetry. She bought a nice pink dress and a flower decorated velvet hat, and started a window box full of flowers in her flat.

She tried to show these things to Vernon.

"They're, erm - very nice accomplishments," he said. She could tell he wasn't interested, and Petunia was strangely disappointed considering how expected that was. "The cooking would be especially useful for when we get married. But don't you think writing poetry is, well, a little… fanciful and silly?" he asked delicately.

Not exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for.

"I suppose so, but I enjoy it," said Petunia coldly.

He must have been able to tell she was upset, because he said placatingly. "Why don't we go on a date, Pet? Someplace special. Your pick."

"I've - I've been hoping to do something a bit reckless. Romantic, fun, impulsive, you know," said Petunia hopefully.

Vernon frowned.

"Nothing too extreme!" said Petunia quickly. "I'm not talking about skydiving or eloping. I was thinking… perhaps stargazing, or ice skating, or a picnic."

"In nature?!"

"Yes, Vernon, that's usually where those things happen," said Petunia impatiently.

"What _has_ gotten into you, Pet?" Vernon glared at her suspiciously. "You sound like your freak of a sister."

And that was the word that really got to her - _freak_.

"I am not a freak!" said Petunia heatedly. "I most certainly am not!"

"Pet, perhaps we could just go to dinner -"

"No, I don't want to go to dinner, I want to go on a bloody picnic! And I want to be bloody physically intimate with my bloody not-a-fiance!" she snapped. Then she stormed away down the crowded street, ignoring the people staring at her. They could all go hang themselves for all she cared.

"Pet!" Vernon called after her. Petunia didn't look back. Something important between them had broken. All Petunia could think was that the one man who had ever taken an interest in her was not interested in doing anything remotely interesting. She felt despair settle in.

She was nothing like her sister. That was still a fact. To say otherwise was ridiculous.

* * *

Petunia and Vernon did make up eventually. Vernon took her to lunch and held her hand, and they said they forgave one another. Vernon told her that she just wanted to be married and that was perfectly fine.

Petunia still hadn't told him about her unborn niece.

She and Vernon began a weird, on again, off again dance. Because suddenly all of Vernon's flaws were brought to Petunia in sharp relief.

His loud, boring opinions grated on her once they had been used on her. His lack of physical appeal and constant habit of stuffing his face seemed more obvious. He was constantly condescending, called her his Pet, and wanted her to give up her job. They had a whole argument about the last one once.

"I'm not having a wife who feels she has to work to earn money!" Vernon shouted. "I'm prouder than that!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Vernon, it's not about you! And I'm not asking to be a neurophysicist! I said I wanted to continue being a secretary!" Petunia had shouted back, exasperated. "And you know what? Maybe I want to continue writing! Maybe I want to have some of it published!"

"I'm not marrying some silly writer," Vernon growled.

"That shouldn't be a problem, considering you won't marry me at all," Petunia sniped.

"It's - it's not like that and you know it!" he boomed, purple-faced.

All of their arguments had become like this.

Annabelle listened patiently as Petunia recounted eagerly countless arguments. Watched her get tenser and tenser.

"You've been so uptight lately," she said. "I was going to one of my retreats over the holiday. You should come?"

"One of those hippie things?" Petunia wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, so you'd rather spend the holidays pretending to get along with Vernon in front of his parents?" said Annabelle sarcastically.

Sometimes Annabelle had good points.

"I'll pack my bags tonight," said Petunia immediately.

* * *

Petunia expected to indulge Annabelle. She hadn't expected to enjoy herself.

The retreat was quiet, surrounded by lovely gardens. She got plenty of sleep, walked around in a lovely white velvet robe, got facials and manicures and massages.

It was amazing how much better she felt.

She and Annabelle giggled together, and sampled the cuisine. Annabelle even got her to try meditation.

"This is silly and it's not going to work," Petunia announced just before they started.

"Just give it a chance," said Annabelle with a secret smile.

So Petunia did. And to her surprise, it did seem to do something. She drifted off, the worries, floating out of her head, and when she opened her eyes after it was all over, she felt much calmer.

"See?" said Annabelle. "It's not so terrible."

* * *

If Vernon was skeptical of writing poetry, he despised the idea of meditating.

"I thought we could try it together," said Petunia insistently. "It sounds silly, but it really helps."

Vernon huffed. "I'm not doing some silly hippie thing," he said flatly with utter contempt and deep suspicion. "You can forget it."

Petunia was quiet for a while. She wasn't even really angry anymore, only troubled. She imagined the rest of her life stretching out before her as a Dursley. Always a housewife, never aspiring to anything, always being talked down to, no romance or passion or excitement, never being touched, listening to Vernon complain for the rest of his life, always worrying what the neighbors were doing.

And what if they did have children? Vernon believed in corporal punishment. He also believed in strict gender roles - their daughter would never be allowed to amount to anything either.

Petunia was troubled. Did she really _want_ to marry Vernon Dursley?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Petunia never took Vernon to Annabelle's parties. He didn't like her, and besides, taking Vernon anywhere in a friendly way would have felt a bit odd these days.

Anyway, it was a Christmas party, and she wore a nice dress and stood awkwardly in a corner, clutching a drink and feeling very out of place. The party sparkled around her, Christmas lights glistening.

A thin young brunette man came up to her, smiling with kind eyes.

"I can see what you like here," he said. "The scenic view is so nice with no humans ruining it."

Petunia started a glare, then realized he was serious. She softened. "I don't like people," she said.

"We share that in common," said the man cheerfully. "David." He held out a hand.

Gingerly, she shook it.

"Can I get you a drink?"

The question threw her off guard. "You… you want to bring me a drink?"

"That is in fact what I said."

She glared at him. "Well, if you're going to be an asshole about it."

He actually laughed. No one had ever thought Petunia funny before. She had no idea what to think of it.

"Alright," she said. "A drink would be fine."

She realized over the course of the evening that David Birch made her give out surprised laughs. He was two years older than her. He worked as a waiter and went to open mic nights on weekends.

"I love classical novels," he said, "but the absurd, imaginative kind, you know. _Alice in Wonderland_ is more my fare."

"What do you do at open mic nights?" Petunia inquired politely.

"It varies," he said, shrugging. "Standup comedy, music. I have a guitar. I'm not very good at it." He smiled self deprecatingly.

Petunia found herself smiling back. "I'd very much like to hear you play sometime."

They talked for most of the evening.

"You know, I have a boyfriend," she informed him at one time.

"Good to know. I'll have to remember not to grope your butt."

She blushed and gave him an offended glare, and he laughed again.

* * *

David had gotten her phone number and address, and two days later in the mail she received a copy of _Alice in Wonderland_. She read it, and was surprised to find she liked it. It wasn't as horrible as she'd thought it would be.

Feeling bold and not entirely sure why it took bravery, she found the return address and knocked on the door. He opened the apartment door up - and looked surprised, but not displeased.

"I read the book," she said with dignity. "I approve of your taste in literature."

"Good to know," he said with mock seriousness. David, she learned, was always teasing somebody about something. "Come in and have dinner? Don't worry," he added, rolling his eyes, when she opened her mouth. "It's just dinner."

They cooked together. He made steaks and she made a French fondue. They ate together, and then he showed her his music - he was better than he'd said. He also talked a great deal about animals.

"I'm of the personal belief that it's alright to use animals, but you have to treat them properly," he said thoughtfully. "If you're going to use an animal for anything, you must take responsibility for it."

"That makes sense," said Petunia cautiously.

David looked at her for a while. "... I'll talk to Annabelle," he said. "She's my cousin. I'd like to show you something."

* * *

They took her out to a farm, Annabelle and David, organic and free range. She trudged with disgust through the mud and muck and dung, staying far away from the animals.

"You know, they won't kill you," David called.

"They're dirty!" she called back. "And dangerous!"

Annabelle just laughed as David rolled his eyes.

Finally, on an inspiration, they took her to see a lamb.

It _was_ very cute. She knelt down, and softly petted its fur. It had innocent, moist eyes.

The farmer started talking about what happened to animals on big industrial farms, and Petunia became horrified and indignant. "That is most unsatisfactory," she said. "Most unsatisfactory."

She had promised not to let the trip affect her, but she started buying animal friendly products.

* * *

She knew something was coming before it happened.

Vernon almost never invited her to his mother's house except for special occasions, and his mother certainly never treated Petunia this politely. They had a lovely dinner, and then they all went to the sitting room and talked for a while.

Mrs Dursley left to use the bathroom - supposedly, Petunia had her suspicions - and then Vernon got down on one knee and opened up a box with a diamond ring inside it.

"Petunia," he said solemnly, "would you make me the happiest man in the world, and marry me?"

Petunia, for some reason, thought of David. "Could we make dinners together sometimes?" she asked suddenly. "And have exchanges of ideas - you know, about important things?"

"P-Petunia -" Vernon's already ruddy face was reddening. "Your realm of important and my realm of important are entirely different. And - and I don't cook, that's a wife's job!" he hissed, embarrassed.

"... Vernon," said Petunia solemnly, sadly, "you don't really want to do this, do you?"

"Pet, I thought this was what you wanted!"

Petunia stood. There was a soft gasp from outside in the hallway, no doubt where his mother was listening. "Vernon, I release you," she said. "It's over. Feel free to do as you like."

She turned to leave.

"Petunia - Petunia, do you know how much I put up with from you?!" Vernon boomed angrily from behind her.

Petunia turned back, reserved. "Perhaps that's a sign it was never meant to work in the first place." She went to the sitting room door, opened it, and stared. "Vernon!" she called in a high, falsely calm voice. "Your mother has fainted!"

And there was Mrs Dursley, passed out on the rug.

* * *

Petunia stayed awkwardly at the hospital next to Vernon until the nurse came out.

"She'll be fine," the nurse said. "She's just a bit shocked, that's all."

"Thank you," muttered Vernon darkly, and the nurse nodded and left. He stood, and Petunia stood with him.

"Vernon," she said pleadingly, "I'm sor -"

"Save your breath," he sighed. "There's nothing left to say."

Vernon left. Petunia stood and stared after him, her courage gone. She realized she'd lost the one true romantic certainty she'd ever had.

What now?

* * *

Author's Note: More Annabelle wisdom next chapter. And more David!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Petunia sat with Annabelle in her apartment late one night, depressed. "What was it, in the end, do you think?" Annabelle asked. "Looks? Actions?"

"Both," said Petunia helplessly. "I don't know, it's just - I was never particularly attracted to him. There's nothing wrong with having a big body type, exactly, but there is something wrong with it when it comes to simply having a lack of disregard for your own health. He wasn't even sick, he just… ate too much and his idea of exercise was crossing a street. Walking." Annabelle smiled faintly, nodding, letting Petunia air it all out. "You're not like that, Annabelle, you're a big woman but you're very healthy," said Petunia helplessly.

"So there was the way he looked. And then there was actions?" Annabelle added.

"Yes. He was - you have to understand, he'd never have allowed me to do _anything_. No imagination, no work, only being friends with the right kinds of people. I mean… you would never have seen me _again_."

Annabelle nodded. "Can I be honest with you, Petunia?"

"I would welcome it," said Petunia, exasperated.

"I never liked him," Annabelle admitted. "I put up with him because I thought you did. You want my advice? Don't lose any sleep over it. I didn't when I broke up with my last boyfriend. Drinking, I'm sure you heard."

Petunia nodded, shamefaced.

"He would either go out drinking and have fun without me, or he would stay in and drink at home and be in a bad mood for the rest of the night." Annabelle shrugged. "I don't have to put up with that."

"But don't you have to - in order to find someone?" Petunia seemed caught off guard. "I mean, Vernon was the same way, but -"

"If that's what it takes to find someone, I'd rather be alone," said Annabelle simply. "Being alone - you know, it's not the end of the world, Petunia. Only when you become comfortable being alone can you be truly happy with another person.

"No matter what the gossips like to tell you."

Petunia nodded. "I… I have a lot to think about," she admitted, still downcast.

"Would you like to move in with me?" Annabelle asked kindly. Petunia looked up in surprise. "I mean, you don't need to, of course, but I do have a bigger place. And then we could pool our money together. I'm much messier than you are, and I burn incense all the time even though I'm not supposed to, but if you can put up with those things -"

"I accept," said Petunia immediately, and Annabelle smiled.

David, Annabelle's cousin, came over to help Petunia move her things in. "Why the sudden change?" he asked absently at one point.

"She broke up with her boyfriend," said Annabelle loudly, "so she was looking for a roommate."

David's mouth fell open and he stared at Petunia for a moment. Petunia blushed very furiously and looked anywhere but at him. "Ah," he said at last. "Well - well I'm very sorry to hear that." But he didn't sound sorry at all.

He helped them move the rest of the boxes in, and went to leave, and then paused and turned back at the door. "Would you - would you, uh -" He was staring, flushed, at Petunia. "You said you always wanted to go on a picnic," he finished at last, lamely.

Petunia realized all at once what was going on, what had been going on all along, and she was struck momentarily and uncharacteristically dumb.

"... She'd love to," said Annabelle, smiling slyly, poking Petunia in the back.

"Y-yes! Yes, that would be wonderful!" said Petunia, recovering, and David looked enormously and uncharacteristically relieved. She thought she heard him collapse a little against the door once he'd let himself out and closed it, and she unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile.

* * *

David made it his mission in life to do all the things Petunia had always wanted to do for a date. They had a picnic and he killed all the bugs for her that wandered onto their blanket, they brought mugs of hot cocoa and sat in lawn chairs looking up at the stars, they went ice skating - grabbing onto each other for dear life, falling over and laughing a lot.

Dating David was nothing like dating Vernon. They hugged, held hands, cuddled, kissed, and touched, had sex. Even when they sat in watching movies together, she still had a good time. There was no overabundance of loud complaining, no demands placed on her. And even when they fought, she never doubted the relationship - it still felt like it was worth it.

Much sooner than she had in her last relationship, Petunia began laying out plans for the future.

"I want to get married," she said, "but stay working."

"We'd both have to work," David agreed amiably, feet up and eyes on the television. "All things considered. I'll do the cooking if you do the cleaning."

"And I think we can make it work," Petunia smiled, triumphant. "Oh, and I want children."

David froze. "... Would you be willing to adopt?" he asked, in a tone she couldn't define.

"Why?" She frowned.

"Because I'm infertile." He winced.

There was a moment of horrified silence - then Petunia shot to her feet. "What?! Why didn't you tell me earlier?!" She felt betrayed.

"I didn't know you wanted children that badly!" he protested, but she was already storming to the door. "Petunia! Petunia, wai -!" She slammed it shut.

* * *

Petunia stormed into the apartment she shared with Annabelle. "He can't have kids?!" she screeched, red-faced. "You didn't bother to tell me he can't have _kids_?!"

Slow realization came over Annabelle's expression. "Oh, God, I… I thought he'd told you." Annabelle put her hands to her mouth.

"Obviously not," Petunia spat. "It was a desperately unpleasant surprise."

She turned to the window, arms wrapped around herself, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.

"... You can adopt," said Annabelle timidly, coming up to stand behind her.

"It's not the same."

"Look. I can't make this decision for you. But the question you have to ask yourself is… if you give up this shot at happiness, will you regret it and wonder about it for the rest of your life?"

Petunia stared out the city window at the lights of passing cars. "I really thought I had a chance at happiness," she whispered, almost to herself.

Annabelle winced. "You do," she said. "But happiness can come in many different forms. Maybe… maybe the universe has other things in mind for you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Petunia spent the night at Annabelle's apartment, and the next morning there was a knock on the door. David stood there, wide-eyed and frantic. Petunia hid behind the door as Annabelle answered.

"Is she here?!" said David in a clear state of panic.

Annabelle winced. "Yes, but I'm not sure if she wants to talk to y -"

"Petunia, listen!" Petunia hid on the other side of the door, tears in her eyes, listening. "I - I didn't know, alright? You have to believe me, I didn't know it meant so much to you!

"But I want to marry you, and I'm willing to try other things. Adoption, in vitro. I'm willing to try it with you. And - and you may not always be able to go out to fancy restaurants with me, but we'll have fun and I'll love you and -"

Petunia suddenly rushed out, upset, and hugged him very fiercely.

"I know," she whispered in his ear. "It's okay. Because I love you."

He hugged her very hard.

* * *

She and David moved in together. They were living in sin, so to speak, but really, after all this, Petunia could give a crap.

The wound and disappointment slowly began to heal over, and life moved on. She was happy with David. They made a nice life together. They both worked. He had his music and open mic nights, and she had her poetry and her culinary masterpieces. He cooked, she cleaned. They had the same ideas on animal friendliness, on the importance of reading, on the unimportance of public appearances.

Petunia was happy. She felt like she was living with, had fallen in love with, a friend. Someone she had no doubts she could spend the rest of her life with.

Slowly, she began to talk more about her family, her past. When she admitted her sister and her brother in law were a witch and wizard, Annabelle and David didn't understand.

"So… they're Wiccan?"

"... Sort of?" she said uncomfortably.

But what they found far more important was her relationship with her sister. "Your parents are dead, she's all you have," said Annabelle intently. "Aren't you happy now, too? You can't hate her forever. She has lots of traits you value now, you said so yourself."

"You'll never forgive yourself if something happens to your sister and the two of you never made up," said David seriously.

Petunia opened her mouth to protest - then remembered the wizarding war, and that Lily was a target, and she closed it again.

* * *

Privately, she summoned an owl and sent it off to Dumbledore. She got back a piece of parchment with the hideout address, a little village cottage out in the countryside.

Lily Potter opened the Godric's Hollow cottage door one day and was stunned to find Petunia standing there, looking sheepish. "Can - can I come in?"

"... Of course, Tuney, of course!" Lily stepped aside, stunned, to let her through. James stopped in the middle of whatever he was doing and stared. Petunia looked and felt awkward and out of place in the cottage, with Lily's swelling belly.

"I'll just, uh - I'm going to go water the garden gnome," said James, stumbling from the room.

There was a moment of silence.

"I may be a Muggle, but I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to water a garden gnome," said Petunia dryly at last, and Lily snorted with laughter. That got Petunia going - and pretty soon they were both laughing hysterically together on the sofa.

"Oh, Tuney, I missed you," said Lily with feel. "I'm sorry about the wedding, about Hogwarts, about -" It all came flooding out at once. Petunia wanted to hate her, for being so forgiving on top of everything else.

"It's fine," said Petunia stiffly. "I - owe you an apology. There was envy there, and - Well, you're still my sister. You're - you're not a freak."

Lily stared at her, emotional. Petunia looked away.

"I have a boyfriend now," she said. "David Birch. He, erm - thinks you're Wiccan. He thought this would be good for me. So did my friend Annabelle. He and I, we - we just moved into a city apartment together. He's a waiter and he goes to open mic nights. I'm a typist, and I've - I've taken to writing poetry. Can you believe that?" She laughed softly, sadly.

"Yes," said Lily gently. "I can. Oh, Tuney, that's wonderful -"

"He can't have children." There was a heavy silence.

"... I'm sorry," Lily whispered. "I know how much you wanted that. A - a daughter."

"I love him," said Petunia quietly, looking forward. "It's okay. He - he has a wonderful sense of humor and he's quite kind. I - I think you would like him.

"I've - I've been trying to gossip less. Be a little more relaxed. That sort of thing. I've taken to meditation and animal friendly products and facials - things I've never bothered with before. I'm listening to classical music. I'm learning French cuisine from a book.

"I don't really regret anything, the way I used to." Petunia trailed off in thought. Lily was watching her with a funny little smile. "What about you?" She took a deep breath and turned to look at her sister, bracing herself for envy.

Instead came this:

"We've been in hiding from the war against Lord Voldemort. We've become targets." Lily winced as Petunia stared at her, flabbergasted. "James was a duelist and I was a Healer. Now we're in hiding from - from that madman."

"That's terrible. I'm sorry," said Petunia with feel. She felt helpless and hated it. "Where's, erm - where's Sev? I never did find out. Too angry and bitter, I suppose."

"Oh, Sev…" Lily looked pained. "He's fighting for Lord Voldemort."

Petunia snorted. "Well that figures." And at last Lily cracked a smile.

"On a happier note, I'm trying to decide on a name for my daughter." She smiled wider with effort and looked up.

"That," said Petunia, "I can help with."

They ended up going through baby name books. Petunia knew Lily would want one romantic and fanciful, but that didn't bother her as much as it used to.

In the end, they chose Juniper. Juniper Amelie Potter. They had great fun doing it, too.

They kept in touch and Petunia bragged about her sister often, keeping a photo of her on her writing desk. She got the birth announcement, visited often and became the auntie, took pictures. Juniper Amelie Potter was a cute little girl with a headful of shiny black hair and Lily's gorgeous green eyes. James and David met and genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

It was around the time James charmed all the table settings at Christmas to set themselves that David and Annabelle began to get the impression the Potters were not exactly Wiccans.

Petunia grew comfortable about magic, moreso indeed than she had ever been before, talking with the Potters' friends about the war and what was going on during it.

The last time she saw her sister alive was just like the other times - she waved goodbye, got into the car, and drove off. The Potters' tiny forms faded in the rearview mirror.

* * *

Petunia opened her apartment door one morning, and a baby was lying there swaddled on the doorstep. She had a headful of black hair, bright green eyes, and a lightning bolt shaped scar on her forehead.

A letter from Dumbledore was tucked inside her blankets.

The Potters were dead. Voldemort was gone.

Juniper was an orphan, and guess who her only living family was?

* * *

Author's Note: We will now switch over to Petunia's perspective on raising Juniper. This story will end when Juniper is ten.


	6. Half Chapter: An Aside

An Aside

Cassandra shuffled along the road in Godric's Hollow, a hunched old woman clad in rags. She was purposefully trying to look mad - her clothes ragged, her silver hair flyaway.

Cassandra Trelawney had a mission.

She had retreated from the public eye and from her own family a number of years ago, fading from the world's view with such neat obscurity that no one was quite sure where she'd run off to. But Cassandra remained, as alive as she was extremely old, and she was still a Seer and still a magical experimentalist, working away at her own private magics, discovering things years before the rest of the wizarding world did.

Famous Seer Cassandra Trelawney lived.

Virtually the only people who knew where she lived now were people who were just as or even older than she was - but more than that, people she _trusted_. This made the list very short, the people involved few and far between.

But two of those people were Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, the infamous alchemist couple who had created a Philosopher's Stone.

She had seen what was coming, before her granddaughter Sybil had even uttered the prophecy, had sat down with her old friends the Flamels and sworn them to secrecy.

"A baby will be born, prophesied by my granddaughter Sybil to be able to destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort."

"I didn't know your Sybil _was_ a Seer," Perenelle had said, puzzled.

"Neither had I, the girl showed no talent, but I suppose even I can be surprised sometimes," said Cassandra dryly.

"Shouldn't we tell Dumbledore?" said Nicolas, straightening, worried.

"No. You know I don't trust Albus Dumbledore. It's why he doesn't know where I am or if I'm still alive. Albus Dumbledore doesn't even trust himself. It's why he's never accepted the position as Minister for Magic," Cassandra rasped. She was a Legilimens, on top of everything else, but she was one of the few people who had never needed Legilimency to read Albus Dumbledore. "He's far too manipulative and unpredictable." She nodded decisively.

"Pot and kettle," Nicolas observed flatly. "It's why the two of you don't get on."

"Well, precisely, and I'm not going to have him interfering with my plans. Listen to me. The girl will be marked by the Dark Lord Voldemort, on the eve of the night he murders her parents. Her power will temporarily make him disappear, and everyone will think he is dead, but he will return. As a spirit. To come after _your_ Philosopher's Stone, and therefore revive himself." She nodded to Nicolas. "And the girl, a child now, she will be there - to stop him."

"One little girl against the spirit of the Dark Lord Voldemort?" said Perenelle worriedly.

"Exactly. I think she needs some assistance. I'm bringing in reinforcements." Cassandra had smirked. "That's why I need your help.

"You don't need to do very much. Only die. You see, the girl will save the Stone in any timeline, but after that it will have to be destroyed so the Dark Lord cannot strive after it again. After you die, I'll need control of your estate. I must remain anonymous. Not even Albus Dumbledore must be able to figure out who I am.

"I plan to control certain things from the sidelines."

"Oh, so you only need me to lie to one of my greatest friends and then die," said Nicolas dryly. "Yes, Cassandra, that's not a tall order at all. I'm going to regret asking this, but just what on earth do you plan to do in the meantime?"

Cassandra cackled, barking out her harsh old laugh. "This is a rare opportunity, Nicolas," she said slyly.

"Not another of your experiments," Perenelle sighed. "Your curiosities can get people _killed_ , Cassandra."

"Yes, but this time they will do just the opposite!" Cassandra's ancient face cracked with a somewhat evil looking grin. "Look, I am the most powerful Seer existent on the planet in three centuries, and this girl is the most heavily prophesied young witch to come along in at least one hundred years. I plan on invoking something called prophecy magic - a dangerous and seldom used magic that can make the impossible quite possible, bringing together elements of the past, present, and future."

"I know what prophecy magic is," said Nicolas, frowning. "And if this doesn't kill you, Cassandra, it could leave you bedridden for days."

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make," said Cassandra simply. "Now. Look what I have." She cackled with laughter as she reached into her pocket - and brought out a Time-Turner.

"Do I even want to know where you got that?" said Nicolas flatly.

"No!" said Cassandra gleefully, her short little legs swinging in her chair. "I am going to combine the power of prophecy magic and a Time-Turner in a very unique, never before done way."

" _Why?"_

Cassandra chose to ignore Nicolas. "I am going to reach back into the past, take two past infants from an alternate universe, and place them in our timeline. They will be born here, in the same year the prophesied girl is born, instead - to brand new families, but in circumstances as similar to the original as possible. They will both be wizards, obviously," she added dismissively.

"Obviously," Nicolas repeated incredulously. Perenelle looked horrified. "Cassandra, why are you doing this?"

"Because she's a helpless little prophesied girl. You know I have a soft spot for helping witches with everything stacked against them," said Cassandra coldly, her glee fading. She looked troubled, old, distant. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Nicolas? An unborn infant girl has been pitted against the evillest and most powerful wizard of all time.

"No one can save her… But we can help her on her quest, if we choose.

"You know help comes best in forms of three. That's the old Arithmancy saying, isn't it? And call me revolutionary, but I like the idea of three young wizards helping a young heroine, a prophesied young witch. I find it refreshing." She shrugged, smiling.

"Three? You said you were only bringing two people back," Nicolas pointed out, frowning.

"The third will already be born in her year. Draco Malfoy."

"A Malfoy? Cassandra, you have heard of their family -?"

"Of course I've heard of their family!" Cassandra snapped, suddenly irritable, as she was prone to being when she had to explain things that seemed obvious to her. "Have you heard of Sirius Black?"

Nicolas fell silent.

 _Or perhaps of Severus Snape,_ Cassandra thought, that might be more to the point, but sometimes she had to remind herself certain things hadn't happened yet.

"If you're worried about that, this will throw you for a loop. Another person I'm bringing back is the infant, fully human version of the Dark Lord himself. Tom Riddle," said Cassandra coldly.

Nicolas shot to his feet. "Damnit, Cassandra -!" he said heatedly, and then he stopped. Because he felt the heavy magic around him.

Cassandra hissed out laughter. "I've already bewitched the conversation. You've agreed to help me, and you will, or you'll die now." She smirked, blinking in a mock fetching sort of way.

"And the third person you're bringing back?" Nicolas growled.

"Newt Scamander," said Cassandra matter of factly.

"So you're telling me… that Newt Scamander… Tom Riddle… and Draco Malfoy… are going to help some random child witch defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort?" said Nicolas disbelievingly.

"That is correct," said Cassandra with scathing dignity.

"Cassandra, were you on something when you decided this?" Perenelle asked delicately, and she sounded genuinely concerned. "Both of those men are still alive. Newt Scamander is married and retired in Dorset. Lord Voldemort is still at large."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Perenelle," said Cassandra, helping herself at last to the wine and biscuits offered at the Flamels' table. "And I was not on anything unusual, no."

"So how are you going to do it?" Nicolas sighed, resigned. It was not the first time Cassandra had decided to screw everything up on behalf of an up and coming witch, but she was an old woman, and privately, he was genuinely worried.

"I need contact," she said intently, "with the girl. Or in this case… with her pregnant mother."

And so Cassandra Trelawney, under heavy magical disguise, shuffled along as an old beggar woman along a street of Godric's Hollow. The prophecy had been made; the trap had been set; now to play her part in it.

By the time Albus Dumbledore saw what had happened, it would be far too late.

She found Lily Potter laughing and chatting with Bathilda Bagshot on a quiet country road, her belly swelling. "Oh, having a baby!" Cassandra crowed, with a bright, stupid smile, shuffling over to the belly. "How lucky you are! Boy or girl?"

Lily Potter looked down at the stupid old beggar woman with sympathy in her eyes. "A girl," she said gently. "We're calling her Juniper Amelie."

"What a beautiful name. May I bless your child?" Cassandra beamed a toothless grin.

Bathilda looked wary, but Lily smiled, open. "Please do," she said kindly.

Cassandra murmured something and touched the stomach - sucking some of the prophecy magic out from the baby; God knew there was plenty to spare.

"Thank you," she cooed, nodding her head, and she shuffled away.

She got quickly behind a wall, took out the Time Turner, combined her own Seer's magic with the magic glowing inside the ever-brightening golden Time Turner… "I'm not going to spare any useless words," she murmured to the universe. "You know what I want, and you know I don't care what it costs me to get there."

There was a bright shoot of light and Cassandra Trelawney passed out cold on the ground.

Nicolas and Perenelle, also under disguise, ran from a nearby cafe to meet her.

"Did it work?" Perenelle whispered worriedly, bent over Cassandra.

"We don't know," said Nicolas shortly. "And we won't; I expect she won't tell us."

They quickly Apparated away with her. It would take two solid weeks of constant bed care before Cassandra Trelawney could walk again.

* * *

The world passed by, as if unchanged, not noticing.

It didn't notice when a pale, handsome, dark haired boy was born to dying Muggle parents and sent to a Muggle orphanage. His name was Thomas Harkiss, Tom for short, and he grew to be powerful, power hungry, and power curious, alien and unfeeling, cruel, and determined to be the best that there was. Never shown love himself, he never showed any to others - yet though he was aware of his own abilities, he was far too canny to be unduly arrogant.

It didn't notice when the Weasleys had two sons that year instead of one - Ronald, or Ron, and then his twin Newton, or Newt. Named, on an inspiration, after the famous magizoologist. Newt Weasley grew up to be a red-haired, freckled, skinny, awkward boy, kind and gentle but remote and obsessed with animals and magical creatures of all kinds. Often teased by his older brothers.

It barely took note when Draco Malfoy was born and raised the only son of the rich and infamous Malfoy clan. A platinum blond with silver eyes, translucent skin, and sharp, aristocratic features, he grew up to be arrogant, haughty, teasing, and playful, most unkind to those he felt were lower in society than he was - though not a cruel or evil boy by any means.

All three had somewhat obscure starts in life. They started as they had been originally as infants, full and complete, and grew from there.

But the entire world took notice when Juniper Potter was born.

She was a pretty little black-haired girl with green eyes. She spent her entire first year of life in hiding with her parents, before Lord Voldemort blasted down their door one evening, murdered her parents in front of her, and tried to kill her. Juniper Potter was left with a lightning bolt scar and a burning country cottage and Lord Voldemort disappeared.

Even as she became famous all across the wizarding world as The Girl Who Lived, she was sent to live with her mother's Muggle sister, Petunia Evans.


End file.
